


Some Killer Queen You Are

by SongAboutExiles



Series: Things That Stop You Dreaming [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Arguments and Fighting, Backstory, Fisticuffs, Harry Hart is a Little Shit, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Self-Hatred, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongAboutExiles/pseuds/SongAboutExiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to No One's Word and Nobody's Promise. It has been hinted repeatedly that even though Harry and Merlin loved each other practically at first sight, the path to their eventual union was rocky, to say the least. This is that story, and it's one of snark, self-loathing, foul language, bad attitudes and Angelica Hart's world-class, A+ parenting. Buckle up, it's quite a ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saw That Coming

If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, Aaron had deserved that punch. It was a hell of a punch, too--Harry's hand-to-hand scores were out of this world. Still, it hurt like fuck, and maybe, just this once, Harry could have tried using his grown-up words instead of his fists. 

"Harry, you fucking wanker!" Aaron pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and let the water from the communal shower wash away the blood. 

"You're right. I should take a picture of this, it would most assuredly last longer." Harry shut off the water on his side and grabbed a towel angrily, tying it tightly around his narrow waist. That was Harry Hart, all long, lithe lines and deadly grace and piss-poor attitude. 

They were the last two candidates, and since both of their sponsors were out on missions they were in a state of limbo. An intolerable state of limbo, given that they had to live, shower, and shit in the same close proximity they'd been in for months. To be completely honest, there was so much sexual tension in this room that Aaron suspected they'd have to disinfect it when they finally left. 

**

It had started the very first day. Aaron had stood out from all the other candidates by virtue of his size and his shaved head and his thick Scottish brogue. Harry was much more the usual sort one got in these interviews, from what Aaron could gather: posh and entitled and entirely too pretty to be let anywhere near dangerous things. Dangerous things like guns and rocket propelled grenades and Aaron Dunvale.

To say they'd got off on the wrong foot would be putting it charitably, because Aaron assumed that Harry was, despite his wealthy upbringing, a more or less normal sort of human being. He'd assumed that the covert, covetous looks Harry was throwing his way meant they should be returned, rather than ignored. Christ, but that pretty little thing could curse a blue streak and punch like a kicking horse. 

That fact just made Aaron even more intrigued, because somewhere in his psych profile, in tiny letters, it probably said 'masochist.' 

And yet...and yet Aaron just couldn't stop the staring, catching Harry's gaze in unguarded moments, falling into those eyes, wondering if that mouth could do anything other than spit cleverly-worded bile. Harry wanted him. It was the one thing in all this madness that Aaron was completely certain was true. Kingsman might lie to him about training exercises and try to trick him on tests (none of which worked, hence his place in the final two), but if there was one thing Aaron could say without a doubt, it was that Harry Hart was gagging for it. 

Every chance Harry got, his eyes came to rest on Aaron. The other man wasn't even entirely sure Harry realised what he was doing, or understood the feelings that made him look in the first place. Harry, Aaron figured, was so deep in the closet he'd face-plant into a lamp post any second. Aaron didn't make a big secret of his own sexuality, but then again it didn't really come up. 

He'd had to seduce a girl for the NLP test, of course, but somewhat thankfully he'd woken up on the train tracks instead. This was the kind of trick he understood, and he'd had no problem passing simply because he was so very grateful he didn't have to try to flirt with a woman. Harry had looked almost as panicked as he felt when shown the picture, so he figured that he was equally glad to be a victim of imminent pancaking. 

Before that fateful night, a little less than two weeks in the past, their relationship had been stormy. Stormy was, naturally, another charitable term. At it like cats and dogs would be more accurate. Harry stared, Aaron flirted, Harry started a fight. Generally, the fights were verbal, but occasionally they ended in the kind of fisticuffs that were really more foreplay than anything else. 

Their sponsors were pretty damned tired of it, and so was Arthur, but they were so good at what they did, passing challenge after challenge with flying colours, that so far they'd only received a stern talking-to. Or ten. 

Maybe fifteen, but no more.

**

"Damn it, Harry..." Aaron shut off the shower head and toweled himself off, shaking off the bruised nose even though it'd surely be livid by tomorrow. "What the fuck, exactly, is your problem?"

"Sexual harassment in the workplace," Harry snapped, eyes fighting to skirt around Aaron's still-naked body. Finally, he gave up the ghost and turned his back on the other man to pull on his pyjama pants and tee shirt. Aaron, of course, couldn't get enough of staring at that fuckable ass. 

_This is ridiculous. It's just insane._ "Come on. You know very well that you stare at me. Why, if not because you want me?" It just didn't add up, and even if he got a black eye to go with his swollen nose, they were going to have this bloody conversation.

"You're mistaken. I'm not...a homosexual." There was so much loathing in that word that Aaron felt it like it had actually been another punch. It was also, unequivocally, crap. 

"Not...all right. Not a dirty faggot like me, then, is what you're saying." Aaron finally pulled on his own clothes, voice a growl. 

"I never used that kind of language, but if you insist, then that's exactly it. I'm sure the other 'dirty faggots' of the world find you quite irresistible, but I'm not one of them." Harry deemed it safe to turn around, but his colour was high and his lips pressed so primly together that Aaron wanted nothing more than to shove his tongue between them. 

"I see. So you just look at me like...what? A bug under a microscope? Am I the first one you've met? Because, mate, let me tell you. The way you're staring is not accidental." Aaron's gut clenched to hear those cruel words out of Harry's genteel mouth, but to be fair he'd provoked it. Not that Harry had to rise to every occasion to be a prat. 

"Exactly!" Harry sounded so relieved to be given a plausible explanation, even if it was the thinnest veneer of utter bullshit. 

"I don't believe you." Aaron crossed his arms. "I think you're as gay as anyone I've ever met, but you won't admit it. So we dance. You stare, I flirt, we fight. Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Harry threw up his hands. "You're just...you're wrong! I am not like that, like you. I can't be." 

"You don't get to bloody choose! That's the point!" Aaron mimicked the exasperated gesture. "All we're doing is torturing each other."

"If you'd stop coming onto me so crassly, we'd be fine." Again with the prim lips, the haughty stare. 

Goddamnit, Harry Hart was fucking beautiful. 

"Why do you think I do it?" Aaron asked, fingers itching to smooth errant curls back from Harry's forehead. 

"I wish I knew! Maybe I look at you because you're generally the most interesting thing in the room, not because I'm attracted to you! That's absurd, and if you weren't some kind of sex fiend you'd see that."

"Ach, I see. Is that what I am, now?" He took a step toward Harry, who planted his feet belligerently. "Just some perverted queer."

"No, stop putting words in my mouth." Harry was getting strident, and Aaron was getting frustrated. Sex fiend was okay, but perverted queer was right out? _Harry, you git._

"You don't think it's because you're attracted to me, then? You don't see that as a possibility?" Aaron shook his head slowly. No, it didn't add up. Harry was wound so tightly that his springs were about to go sproing, and when that happened they'd have a huge bloody mess on their hands. 

"Look, Aaron. You're a good candidate, you're a good man. But I simply don't find men attractive.:" A note crept into Harry's voice, one of desperation. 

"I know it's not easy to admit..." Aaron could feel himself falling, because lovely, damaged boys were his bloody kryptonite. 

"You don't know anything!" Harry snapped. "You don't know anything about my life, my family, what's expected of me." 

Ah, so that was it. _Damn it all to hell._ "I see. You're right, I don't know. But I'd like to." 

"We are not friends." It was clear enough that they couldn't be, at least in Harry's eyes. 

"Bugger all the competition. I want to be your friend." One of them would land the job, one would not, but Aaron had never seen anyone more in need of a friend in his life. 

"No, you really don't. You really, really don't." Harry turned away, and whistled for Mr. Pickle to come out for his evening walk. "No one does." He left, trailing his utterly impractical little terrier in his wake. 

"Bloody hell." Aaron had to shove over his drooling mastiff, Ajax, scratching the dog behind the ears and wondering what the hell he'd got himself into.


	2. That'll Leave a Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has to re-do the seduction test, only with a rather unfortunate kiss. There may be a great deal of glitter in this chapter. Beware the glitter.

The detente was both palpable and worrisome. 

After their conversation and Aaron's offer of friendship, Harry stopped looking. Or, if he was looking, Aaron wasn't noticing. That should be a relief: oh good, Harry sorted himself out, no more longing looks, no more snark and rogue flying fists. Should be. But it wasn't. Aaron was now positive that 'masochist' wasn't in such small letters after all. God help him, he missed it. He actually missed their little dance. He missed Harry. 

It was the kind of emptiness that you feel with a knocked-out tooth--you can't leave it alone. You have to keep niggling at it with your tongue until you've made yourself thoroughly miserable. You're doing it entirely to yourself, but you're still angry about it all.  
  
Two nights later, Harry was called out after the end of the day's training, leaving Aaron alone in the tiny lounge with Ajax and Mr. Pickle, who got on like a house afire. Whatever this particular training exercise was, it was not for him. Aaron tried not to worry about it too much. How often did he get a chance to have even five minutes alone, much less a whole evening? He should just be watching crap telly and petting dogs, not worrying about what being left out meant for his candidacy. And most definitely not worrying about Harry. Harry had shown, repeatedly, that he could take care of himself. Except when it came to seduction skills. Oh shit.

Suddenly, Aaron was absolutely sure what Harry was out doing. He was not jealous. He wasn't. He had no right to be, and chances were that Harry was having a wretched excuse for a night. Hopefully, there'd be no rohypnol this time. 

His mind kept worrying at that particular thought. Harry seducing a posh girl. Or rather, some posh girl touching Harry. A hand on the arm, a knowing brush of fingertips on the inside of an elbow, mouths meeting in a dark corner...damn it. Not only was Harry not his, Harry was blatantly uninterested in becoming his. Jealousy was not appropriate and not welcome. 

Aaron had just changed into his pyjamas when Harry staggered in, dressed in poured-on jeans and a tight mesh tee shirt, glitter everywhere. He grinned at Aaron sloppily. "I did it!" 

Bloody hell. They wouldn't... They wouldn't send him to a gay club, surely. And yet the evidence was getting every-fucking-where. Aaron went to intercept him before he collapsed on his bed in that state, the scent of liquor sticking to him like those clothes. "Hold up, Harry..." 

Harry let him put a hand on his shoulder and redirect him toward the showers. "Ye need to wash that glitter off before it infects the whole room." Of course, Harry chose that exact moment to envelop Aaron in a messy embrace. Now they were both thoroughly be-glittered. Aaron sighed heavily. It was going to be a long night. 

"C'mon, Harry. Tell me about your night." He grabbed the hem of the shirt and tugged it up, struggling with the friction against Harry's sweaty skin, then he started the shower. 

"I hated every second of it, Aaron. Every fucking second. But I did it. I seduced a bloke. Got him into the corner, kissed him. Hated it. I was really worried they were going to wait even longer to come and stick him with an amnesia dart, but kissing was it." Harry's smile at seeing Aaron disappeared, and he looked a little nauseated. 

"You kissed someone...a man." Aaron ground his teeth together and put Harry's hands on his shoulders so he wouldn't fall over when Aaron knelt to get him out of his boots and socks, then his jeans. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. There was no room. This was not how he'd imagined being on his knees in front of a naked Harry. Not at all. 

"He was very good-looking, actually, but I didn't want to kiss him." Harry shook his head, drunkenly pedantic, watching owlishly as Aaron stripped off his own set of glittery pyjamas. 

"I know, I know. We went through all this the other night. You're not a 'homosexual.'" Aaron rolled his eyes and directed Harry under the spray, trying and mostly succeeding in ignoring the fact that the young man he'd fallen for so comprehensively was naked and wet in his arms. 

"No, but." Harry rested his heavy head on Aaron's broad shoulder. "He still wasn't you."

Aaron's heart clenched and his dick twitched to life despite stern warnings of dire consequences. "You don't mean that. You're just drunk, and I'm helping you, and that's that." 

"Oh, don't I?" Lovely, now Harry saw it as a bloody challenge. And Aaron's night had been going so well. "Maybe I didn't want that to be my first kiss."

"Your first kiss?" Aaron was heartbroken for Harry as much as he was peeved with Kingsman. Surely they knew; they knew everything. "Ach, I'm sorry, mate." The desire to show him what a real kiss was burned a path along Aaron's bloodstream. "That's bollocks."

"It **was** ," Harry agreed emphatically, in the moment before he grabbed Aaron and brought their mouths together in a sloppy, inexperienced kiss. For all that Aaron tried to pull away (while simultaneously wanting nothing more than to reciprocate--goddamn, Harry was fucking complicated), somehow Harry had a lamprey's grip on his slippery shoulders. 

Then Harry needily pushed his tongue against Aaron's mouth and Aaron was lost, all thought fleeing his mind except the need to just **show** Harry already. He backed Harry against the central post of the shower and cupped the man's face, their bodies pressing together as Aaron took charge. 

It was still a mess of a kiss, they were both too needy for it to be romantic perfection, but Aaron couldn't remember the last time a kiss made his toes fucking curl. Harry was all hot and hungry and desperate, and Aaron was more than happy to give him what he craved. A clever tongue exploring and teasing and rewarding, teeth nipping lightly at a lower lip, shared breaths that meant the kiss went on far longer than it should. 

Finally, Aaron's better angels tapped him violently on the shoulder and reminded him that Harry was both drunk and traumatised and that this was ungentlemanly at the very least. Harry would not thank him for this in the morning, sober. 

Harry was so sweetly yielding, and the little noises he was making were so intoxicating, that conscience or no it took Aaron a long moment to end the kiss and step back. "No, Harry, we can't do this."

"What? But...but I want to do this." Harry was still largely glittered, and the round-eyed, blinking stare he was giving Aaron was so adorable, Aaron wanted nothing more than to take him to bed right then and there. 

"No, Harry, you really don't. You made that very clear. This isn't who you are, remember? And when you've sobered up and washed off the glitter, you'll hate me if I don't stop. You may hate me anyway, I don't know. I hope not." Aaron's voice was thick, and the moment he figured Harry could support himself now he stepped over to the adjacent shower head and washed off his share of the glitter. 

"I was lying, you giant git." Harry slumped and looked down at his erection, which really should be enough proof of what he wanted. Then he turned away and hid himself, scrubbing with a clumsy determination at his skin. 

"I know that, wanker. You think I don't know that? But this is an epiphany you'd be better off having sober, not drunk and upset." Harry had gone from deliciously open to completely closed off in a heartbeat and Aaron couldn't stand it. He reached over and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Tell me all this in the morning, and I swear to you that the kiss you get will put that one to shame." 

Harry just nodded and finished up his shower, towelling off and then cleaning his teeth thoroughly. Aaron put on a fresh pair of pyjamas and they crawled into their bunks on opposite sides of the room, the distance lying between them like heavy, scratchy, unwelcome blanket. 

**

The next morning was already unusual--Harry was up before him, neatly dressed in his uniform when Aaron was just sitting up and stretching. At the sight of Harry so buttoned up, Aaron's heart sank. 

"I would like to thank you for helping me in my disgraceful state last night," Harry announced, syllables proper and clipped. "I was clearly not in my right mind." 

"No? You could've fooled me, Harry." Aaron slid out of bed and padded over to Harry. 

"How could I have been? I behaved deplorably, and I said things I did not mean." So that was the angle. Aaron sighed heavily and ran a hand over his bald head. 

"I see. So that's it, then? You were lying about lying." Aaron was suddenly furious, but he found he couldn't bring himself to take it out on the man in front of him. 

"Just so. People who are inebriated come up with the strangest tales. Surely you've experienced this." Harry used a hand sign to summon Mr. Pickle for his walk. 

"Surely you're full of shit, but I can see I'll get nowhere with you. Just like before." Aaron shook his head and went to change into his uniform.

"There's nowhere to go," Harry said, the propriety slipping for a moment to show the bleak desperation underlying it. 

"There's a whole world, Harry. A whole world to go to." A world full of wonders and beauty and pleasures and delights. 

"Not for me." Then he was gone.

Aaron stared at the doorway until Ajax whined at him for his own walk, wishing like hell that he wasn't in love with Harry fucking Hart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following No One's Word over here and reading the prequel. It means so much to me! :)


	3. Fucking Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally progress for Harry and Merlin, until fate in the form of Arthur throws a huge curve ball. We find out what made Harry the prat he is today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn is slowly becoming fast burn. Thank gods.

The permission for a night out had come as a surprise. Aaron reckoned that Merlin was as sick of watching them silently mope about the complex as they were to be doing it, so they were allowed to go down to the local, together, and they had a bloody curfew like they were 16 years old, not trained killing machines. 

They jumped at the chance.

After two pints each Harry was finally unwinding himself a bit, his spine not so rigid, his impeccably tailored jeans and button-down not so starched. Aaron took the opportunity to study the other man, again, some more, as if that wasn't what he'd just spent the last few months doing. Harry liked his Guiness, which was somehow adorable, and god, why was he so besotted with this trainwreck of a man?

Aaron got up and fetched two whiskeys--they were on foot, why not indulge a little? All they had to do was stagger back to the estate by midnight. Which made Aaron imagine Harry as Cinderella, prompting a grin that was still in place when he returned with the drinks.

"What?" Harry asked defensively, taking his whiskey and making significant headway in just one sip. 

"Just...you. Ye drive me crazy, but sometimes ye make me smile." Aaron knew that was perhaps a tad too honest, but fuck it.

"I make you smile? Are you some kind of masochist?" Harry took another drink of his whiskey.

"I'm starting to think so. I still want to be your friend, for example." And it was even true. He might want more, but underlying everything was the simple desire to know the other man. 

"I think you actually mean that. Well. That's a first." Harry narrowed his eyes and looked over at Aaron suspiciously.

"I do mean it. At least tell me why you're so..." Aaron made a gesture that encompassed Harry. 

"Why I'm such a prat and a homophobe and an arsehole?" At least the man was self-aware. And two out of three sheets to the wind. 

"See...that's the thing. I don't think you're any of those things. Not really. Not deep down. You're a good man, Harry. You'll be an amazing agent. I just want to know what got ye so twisted up." Aaron was careful to keep his hands and arms inside his own personal space at all times.

"It's not a nice story." Harry looked down at the tumbler in his hands, turning it slowly.

"I don't care much for nice, Harry." 

"I suppose it starts with the fact that I was the third son of a very wealthy, very old family. To begin with, my mother Angelica had little use for me, or for motherhood in general. You know the type--she had me, handed me over to the nannies and went about her life. We were presented in review once or twice a day. I didn't know at the time there was anything cold or overly-formal about it, it was just my life. My brothers took an instant dislike to me. Matthew, the eldest, I worshipped. I wanted to follow him everywhere and do everything he did, but he preferred to beat me up. Andrew, the middle child, was much the same." Harry shrugged like it was all just part of growing up. Beatings instead of cuddles.

"And your da? What about him?" Aaron wanted to find Matthew and Andrew and show them exactly what it felt like.

"My father was my one saving grace. He was like me, bookish and quiet, and while he didn't spend much time with me, he at least gave me books to read. He left when I was six--I'm not sure where he is, actually. I suppose he'd finally had enough of Angelica, and no one questioned or remarked upon it. He was just on an extended trip for the university." Harry chuckled bitterly. "We do not divorce."

"What did your mother do? Eventually, you must have outgrown the nursery." Aaron privately wondered just how much like Harry his father was, while simultaneously being angry as hell with the man for leaving a vulnerable child behind. 

"Oh, I did. You asked me once why I chose the puppy I did, why I gave it such a ridiculous name. My mother had kennels, stables, all of that. The dogs in the kennels were hunting dogs, and she trained them ruthlessly. When I was young, they terrified me, so she made me go with her whenever she went. It's where I learned training, and it's why I picked a dog that was as unlike them as could be." Harry's voice trailed off, his pretty eyes faraway.

"That makes a lot of sense, Harry. Ajax doesn't bother ye, does he?"

"Oh, god no. My mother had hounds, not mastiffs, and Ajax is perhaps even more harmless than Mr. Pickle." His mouth turned up at one end in a vanishingly rare smile. 

"Mr. Pickle--no ankle is safe," Aaron teased gently, afraid to startle Harry out of this rare revelatory mood. "Let me make a wild guess. Your brothers were much more like your mother than you were."

"That would be a very good guess. They could just mount up and follow all the baying hounds and watch foxes get torn to pieces, then come back and celebrate with all her society friends. Whereas I, fool that I was, thought that taking up dressage would get them off my back. What it got me was a lot of beatings. It was a sport for girls, you see. For poufs. I kept at it, though, even won a few trophies, and I learned to fight back. I fought them so hard, Aaron." Harry said it like he was insisting, that Aaron not believe for a second he just took it. 

"I know. I've been on the receiving end of a few of your punches, Harry. Ye have a kick like a bloody mule." Aaron almost rubbed his jaw, but refrained, not wanting to push Harry.

"I..." Harry licked his lips, and Aaron's brain fizzled out momentarily. "I would like to apologise for hitting you." 

"I accept your apology, Harry." If he didn't know before what was fueling Harry's self-hatred, he did now, and he couldn't hold it against the man. Didn't even remotely want to.

"Just like that?"

"Aye, just like that." Aaron leaned across the table, veering ever so slightly into Harry's personal bubble while finishing his whiskey. "If I get up to get two more, will ye keep telling me the story when I get back?"

Harry drained his glass and nodded slowly. "If you want to hear it."

"I do." Aaron stood, still distressingly sober, and went for another round. The bar crowd was just getting going, so it took longer than he'd like to come back, big hands enfolded around the cheap pub glass. Harry was staring into the dregs of his empty glass like he could find some kind of message in there.

"Thank you." Harry took his drink and another healthy swig. "Do you really need to hear the rest? I'm sure you can guess." 

"Maybe I can, maybe I can't, but ye need to say it. To someone. And I'm right here, Harry." _I'll always be right here._

"It's really a rather banal sort of tale. My brothers took any sign of what they thought was effeminacy and squashed it ruthlessly. Reading _Wuthering Heights_? Beating. Winning a dressage trophy? Beating. I learned very early to censor everything I did. The one thing I wouldn't give up is my horse, but I did give up dressage. Eureka died when I was away at school. I don't doubt that he got cut up and fed to the bloody dogs." Finally, some heat crept into Harry's almost too-flat voice.

"Your mother would do that?" To Aaron, it sounded barbaric, but he was no country gentry, either. Maybe that was just what you did with dead horses.

"I never asked, but I know she would. She hated that horse, almost as much as she loathed me for being too much like my father. My eldest brother manages the family accounts and estates now, and Andrew works at a hedge fund and is richer than Croesus. At weekends, they all get together with their dreadful wives and horrendous children and the cycle starts again. It was all so medieval--one son is the heir, the second adds to the family fortune. And the third would have once gone into the clergy, but in my family it was Kingsman." Harry took a long, deep drink and set his glass down a little too hard on the scarred wooden table. 

"Father Harry has a nice ring to it." Aaron tried for a smile and fell short. "But Agent Galahad has a better one."

"Don't you dare throw this competition now that you've heard the story," Harry growled, and that sound went right to Aaron's balls. 

"I wouldn't dare. I respect ye too much." Aaron wanted to reach for Harry's hand, just barely restraining himself. 

"Quite right." Harry paused. "And I respect you." If he was aware how scandalously pretty he was looking up at Aaron from under his lashes, there was no sign of it. "I'm sorry that I've been such a prat. I don't know how to be properly civilised." 

"Do you understand why ye've been such a prat, Harry?" Aaron asked carefully.

"I...have some idea." The words cost Harry dearly.

"Aren't ye tired of their rules? Aren't ye sick of being their man, and not your own?"

"More than you could possibly know." This time, Harry met Aaron's gaze square on. "But I don't know how." 

Aaron's hand did move, then, covering Harry's, and the other man didn't move away. "I do, Harry."

"No." Harry waited a long, agonised moment before yanking his hand back. "No, Aaron. I am more than my base desires." 

"Base desires? Ah, so we're back to dirty queer territory, are we?" Aaron felt a flare of anger in his belly that he stifled as best he could. "Ye think it's dirty, and ugly. Ye think fucking me would be dirty and ugly."

To Aaron's eternal shock, Harry blinked back tears while he finished the rest of his second whiskey. "No. Yes. I..." He looked so fucking helpless, Aaron melted. 

"Forget I said it, Harry. We'd best be heading back. Can't have Merlin up our arses." Aaron stood and gathered his jacket, waited for Harry to do the same. 

Harry nodded, and they left the crowded pub. Thankfully, no one said anything, and no taunts were thrown. Aaron knew that to outside eyes, they would look very much like a couple, not just mates out for a drink. A taunt would be too much for Harry right now, and Aaron might just kill anyone who hurt him. "You're his favourite, you know. Merlin's. Wouldn't be surprised if he wants you for himself." 

"There are worse fates." Aaron would happily go into Merlin's division if it meant staying close to Harry, and oh god--it just occurred to him exactly how besotted he was. Maybe 'masochist' was in 60-point glowing font on his file after all. 

They were walking along the dirt road that led back through the estate from the nearby village, hedgerows on either side. The silence was, if not exactly companionable, then not oppressive. In the years to come, Aaron would wonder where exactly he got the courage to risk everything. Maybe it was the way the moonlight cast Harry's face in chiaroscuro, light and dark coming together to make him irresistible. 

A quick pivot put Harry up against the wall of the Kingsman estate, big hands gentle on suddenly-tense muscles. Would Harry fight? Fly? Aaron stared into Harry's conflicted eyes for a long moment before leaning in for that kiss, the one that had lain between them all night. Unlik the mess of a kiss that they'd shared in the showers, this one was all controlled hunger, and Aaron was absolutely in charge. 

Harry's mouth relaxed against his with a soft whimper he would doubtless deny later ever happened, and Aaron fought to keep his own mouth tender, exploring, gentle but implacable. "Ye thought fucking me would be dirty and ugly," Aaron whispered against Harry's lips.

"I...I don't know what to think," Harry murmured in return, caught helplessly, hopelessly in Aaron's arms. 

"Ye were half right." Aaron nuzzled at Harry's ear, pressing their hips together. "It'd be proper dirty. I'd strip ye naked, slide my hand into your hair, give ye a chance to taste my cock. You've stared at it often enough...tell me ye haven't fantasised about sucking it." His voice was a low growl, the burr stronger with his arousal. 

"I did. Do." It was a whispered confession. "But I wouldn't know how." 

"Oh, sweet boy, I'd teach ye. You'd be so pretty with my cock in your mouth." Aaron shifted, thigh sliding up between Harry's legs to find him hard. "But I wouldn't want to come like that. Can ye guess how I'd want to come?"

"Inside me..." Harry finally met Aaron's eyes square on, with a flash of challenge.

"Too fucking right. I bet ye think it'd hurt, and be awful and ugly. But not the way I'd do it. God, your ass is made to fuck. Wanna use my tongue on that little hole of yours, taste ye deep. Lick and suck till you're begging me for more. I'd use so much slick, go so slow...one finger at a time opening ye up for my cock." It was a little alarming, how easy this was, saying these things to his skittish Harry. His skilttish Harry who was grasping at Aaron's shoulders, trying to keep from humping the man right there in the lane. 

"That...that IS dirty." And yet Harry wasn't moving. 

"In all the best ways, Harry. God, I want ye. Want to watch ye come, you'll be so fucking beautiful...Not. Ugly." He nipped at Harry's ear in emphasis. 

"Fuck..." The clocktower on the estate started chiming twelve. If they didn't run for it, they'd be late and probably up all night training in retaliation. Harry looked stricken, and Aaron thought once more of Cinderella.

"Let's go." Aaron kissed Harry one more time, then grabbed his hand. They ran.

**

After making it back at just at the barest edge of an acceptable time, Harry and Aaron were left to crawl into their separate small beds. There was no way that anything non-accidental would happen in front of that two-way mirror. It was a long, long night.  
The next morning, Harry was still dead to the world while Aaron got dressed. He went over and smoothed his hand over Harry's unruly mop of curls. "Wake up, gorgeous," he whispered, just for him. 

Harry turned over and smiled.

**

In the afternoon, they were both called into private meetings. Harry met with Merlin, and Aaron with Chester, who looked particularly dyspeptic at having to sit across from such an obviously unsuitable candidate. 

Arthur pulled out a slim dossier. "We have a slightly different final examination for you, Aaron. Your...friend...Harry is just next door. He's being asked to shoot his dog, so I think you'll agree you and Ajax both got off easy."

Aaron felt a bit queasy at the idea of Mr. Pickle in a thousand bits, but he set his jaw. More mindfuckery, no doubt. He fervently hoped so when he heard the gun go off. "So what is my assignment, Sir?"

"It's a seduction. It should be quite simple, really, given your history." The veiled hints at his sexuality could really stop anytime, Aaron thought irritably, taking the offered dossier. He opened it, and his heart stopped for a beat in his chest. 

It was a picture of Harry Hart.

"There must be some mistake, Sir." Aaron stared at Chester levelly, the anger building in his gut not showing on his face.

"No mistake. We knew you'd shoot your dog, so we developed a slightly more personal test of your commitment to being a Knight." Arthur smiled benignly, and Aaron didn't buy it for a second. 

He looked down at the picture of Harry, a candid taken at some point where he was actually smiling, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"No." He suppressed the rage he felt and handed the dossier back. "I'll go pack my things." 

"No? But surely you have him wrapped around your little finger. All it would take is a nudge." Arthur was definitely enjoying this. 

"Harry is not a toy. He is not a training exercise. He is not a social experiment." Aaron's voice was clipped. "He is, above all, my friend. I will not hurt him like this." 

"Then you're dismissed. I knew you didn't have what it took." Chester looked almost gleeful, as Aaron rose stiffly to his feet and left the room.

Merlin was waiting outside. "That was a real arsehole move, Dunvale. Good on you for telling him to shove it. Want to come work for me?"

"Hell yes, Sir."


	4. I Don't Need Your Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look who's figuring their shit out. Good boys.

The next two days passed after Aaron agreed to be part of Merlin's organisation in a blur of moving into a Kingsman flat, getting kitted out, and orientation activities. Aaron would have liked nothing more than to see Harry again, to water whatever nascent relationship was finally taking hold, but apparently Kingsman hadno qualms in sending their new Galahad out before the ink was even dry on the contract. 

So he waited, and he fretted, and he fucking _loved_ his new job. 

Merlin kept Aaron up to date on Harry's mission, without Aaron even having to ask, and that was an unlooked-for kindness of the sort that he hadn't seen much of in his life, or especially since coming to Kingsman. If anything Aaron had learned that righteousness and honour could be hard, unforgiving cliffs upon which to dash oneself. 

It was late when the knock came at the door, and Aaron wasn't even surprised to find that it was Harry, looking tired but none the worse for wear. "I was hoping you'd come by when ye got in." Aaron stood aside for Harry to enter the flat, which was still in chaos. 

Harry was holding himself stiffly, unsmiling, and Aaron's heart dove in his chest as he closed the door behind him. "I need to know why I got the job, Aaron."

_Oh, crap._ "You got the job because you deserve it." It was true enough. "I'm well happy where I am."

"That's nice, but you could have had this." Harry's raised his chin in defiance, pugnacious again.

"It came at too high a cost for me," Aaron replied gently. 

"You threw the contest and you know it!" Harry balled his hands up into fists and the veneer of civility was gone, evaporated by the anger bubbling at the surface. 

"I did not!" Aaron didn't want another fight--God knew he didn't--but he wasn't going to cop to something he didn't do. "I just have morals. Standards. That makes me unfit for the job apparently." 

"And I don't, is that what you're saying?" Harry sounded impossibly young, although he was a scant six months younger than Aaron.

"I'm saying you're more flexible than I am, not that you're a bad person. Because you're not." _You're a lovely mess and I'm in love with you._

"Flexible?! All you had to do was shoot the bloody dog, Aaron. You should have been able to tell by weight that the gun was loaded with blanks!" So that was why he pulled the trigger so fast. 

"That wasn't my assigment, Harry." They were standing practically chest to chest in the middle of Aaron's half-unpacked living room, so intent on each other that the walls could cave in without them noticing. 

"What was it, then? If you don't tell me, I'll always think you threw this because you fucking feel sorry for me!" Harry snarled.

"It was a seduction. And that's all ye need to know." 

"Whom did they want you to seduce? Was it a child? A woman?" That last was spat out, a blatant attack.

"No! Neither--why are you pushing me on this? It was someone I couldn't seduce." Wouldn't, was closer to the truth. 

"Come on. You could seduce a fucking tree, Aaron. Who was it?! Harry stepped a pace closer, till they were a meagre inch apart. 

"You. It was you, Harry." Aaron was tired, and it hit him suddenly, like a ton of bricks. He was tired of this dance, of loving someone so hopelessly. 

Harry stepped back like the words had been a slap. "Me. Me?" It obviously just did not compute. "Why?"

"Because Chester King is a sadistic, homophobic arsehole, Harry. He knew how I felt about ye, knew how in the closet ye were, and thought of one trap I'd absolutely refuse to walk into." Aaron gentled his voice and folded his arms across his chest. 

"You could have done it, though, Aaron. It would have been so easy." Harry looked at him, stricken, still not able to process the situation.

"I refused because I couldn't, wouldn't use ye." Harry Hart was a rare creature to be treasured and protected, not used for gain.

"Oh my god." Harry's hand flew up to cover his mouth in shock as his mind caught up to the matter at hand. "You're in love with me! You are!" 

Aaron's eyes grew wider, and this time he was the one to take a step back. "What if I am?" He was no liar. 

"You poor bastard." Harry hugged himself and sat down heavily in the nearest chair. 

"Sometimes, ye know, being told you're loved is a good thing." Aaron's voice tightened on the words, and he felt like the walls were crashing down around him, leaving him in the rubble of broken half-dared dreams. 

"Do you really think loving me is good for you, Aaron? Good for anyone?" Harry looked up at him, shock still writ large on that pretty face. 

"I think that I can't seem to help it, Harry. And I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry that I failed that test. I'm happy where I am, and ye were made to be Galahad." Aaron forced himself forward, crouched in front of Harry. "What's going on in that head of yours?" he murmured. 

"That all I want is to say that I love you, too." Harry could lie, had been lying all this time, but maybe, just maybe, he was tired, too. 

Aaron's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't been expecting that. "Oh. Oh, I...I see." 

"I know. I should be doing a lot of things right now, like yelling and taking a swing at you and angrily storming out, but I can't." Harry met his eyes finally, and all Aaron could see was a sort of sad, unformed longing that broke his heart. 

Aaron reached out and touched Harry's cheek, surprised when Harry moved into the tentative caress. "You're right where ye belong, Harry." 

Slowly, as if every inch gained were an agony, Harry leaned over to press his mouth to Aaron's. It was soft, like their kisses had never been, a question and not a demand. A question that Aaron answered, his mouth gentle, keeping the kiss sweet, showing Harry by main force of will that this didn't have to be violent. 

Harry moaned deep in his chest and nuzzled at Aaron's mouth, his tongue peeking out for a taste of lips, as though he didn't remember every detail of what Aaron tasted like. Aaron opened his mouth, allowed the intrusion, touching his tongue to Harry's in a shuddery moment that was pure pleasure. When Harry pulled back after that touch, his eyes were wide. "This is all right, then?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Aaron murmured, stroking his thumb across Harry's lower lip. 

"We're always so rough with each other. I thought...that was what it was. With men." Harry looked at Aaron, lost. 

"We set the rules. We touch each other any way we like." And Aaron was most assuredly not choking up at Harry's words, at the struggle and self-hatred and blind need they represented. "Any way ye like." 

"I liked that, but I liked the rough kisses, too." It all so painfully clearly did not make any sense to Harry. But then again, how could it?

"I loved that kiss. I've loved all the kisses, even the one where ye smeared glitter all over me," Aaron teased gently, hoping to just make Harry smile.

"I see my master plan worked. A big, naked, glittery punk." Harry did smile, just a little, and leaned in to kiss Aaron again. It was just as soft, just as sugary-sweet, and Aaron absolutely let him lead. There was a lifetime sweetness deficit to be be made up, after all, and it delighted Aaron on levels he didn't even understand that Harry Hart nuzzled at his lips, pressed his tongue gently into Aaron's mouth, let Aaron in when the tide turned. 

"Ye had no master plan. Ye were drunk. And glittery, and somewhat adorable." Aaron took Harry's hands and lifted till he stood from the chair, before leading them through the flat to the bed. "Nothing has to happen, not until you're ready. I just thought it might be nice to be more..." He was going to say 'comfortable,' but Harry was already toeing off his shoes and crawling onto the mattress. 

"I know that. Get in bed. I am not adorable." Harry had, in fact, never been more adorable than he was in that moment, and Aaron wasted no time sliding into bed next to him, facing him. _You besotted fool._

"No, of course you're not. You're a killing machine." Aaron slowly showed Harry how to curl into his body, how to rest his head on Aaron's shoulder so that he was in prime kissing position. 

"Quite right," Harry declared before delivering another of those tooth-aching kisses. He stroked Aaron's face as their mouths opened, and gasped when Aaron's tongue slid in deep, gliding against his, the rhythm turning primal, soft noises turning to moans. 

Soon, Harry's hips were moving restlessly, and Aaron turned toward him, gently gripping the back of his thigh and sliding it over Aaron's hips, bringing their bodies in tightly together. "You're perfect," he whispered against kiss-swollen lips. 

"Nonsense," came the murmured response, around a surprised moan as their cocks rubbed together through far too many layers of clothing. 

"Shush, I can think what I want." Aaron watched Harry's face, to see if it was too much too fast, but again Harry surprised him by scooting even closer, until not a sliver of light remained between them. 

"I think...it surprises me that we fit so well together." And yet, they did. Harry probably had all sorts of rubbish in his head about two men not being 'designed' to fit together, about how unnatural it all should be. But the thing was, it was so perfectly natural for them to lie together that it surprised even Aaron. 

"Like ye were made for my arms," Aaron dared, knowing it was a bit overtly romantic.

He assumed the worst when Harry sat up, then slid off the bed. "Harry, I...I'm sorry, I won't talk like that..."

"No, you will. I want you to. I'm just taking my clothes off, if that's quite all right." Harry paused with his hand on the top button of his shirt, and Aaron's mind promptly fritzed right out with lust. 

"Please..do. If that's what you want." Aaron was frozen, staring as Harry's lithely muscled chest was bared, like he hadn't seen it a thousand times. 

"Come on, don't make me be the only one naked." Harry was being very brave, after all. It was only right for Aaron to follow suit. He stood and pulled off his jumper, and the shirt underneath, catching up to Harry as they both started together on the buttons and zips of their jeans. 

"Better?" Aaron asked, voice roughening, as he slid his jeans and underpants down together, stepping out of them. He was hard, although he wasn't entirely sure when that happened.

Harry was a bit more proper about the process, stripping off his jeans and leaving him in boxers, the head of his own hard prick peeking out from the top of the band. "Oh god. Better. Very much so." Aaron would lay odds that Harry had no idea he'd actually licked his lips. 

He crawled back up on the bed and watched Harry get rid of the boxers, blushing furiously as he slid back into Aaron's arms, skin on skin. Aaron felt Harry shiver and press closer, making curious and hungry little noises. 

"Do ye want something, love?" Aaron stroked a hand through Harry's now-messy curls, and rubbed their cheeks together. 

"You were...right. About how much I want to..." Harry glanced down at Aaron's erection, imploring him to just understand without Harry having to **say** it. 

"Suck my cock?" Aaron could say it, and would. The little spurt of precome against his belly was quite rewarding. 

"You said you'd show me how." If anyone could sound imploring and imperious at once, it was Harry Hart. 

"Mm, I did. Here, love, lie back." He manoeuvered Harry onto his back and gently spread his thighs till he fit in between them. Harry blushed even more furiously, but he allowed it. Even helped. Even spread his thighs wider than needed. His cock slapped against his flat belly, thick and perfect. "God, you're a sight for sore eyes. Do ye have any idea how beautiful ye are?" 

"I thought you were going to show me how." Obviously, Harry didn't quite believe he was beautiful. That was all right, Aaron was about to show him. 

"The best way to show you, is to demonstrate." Aaron grinned and leaned in, nuzzling the baby-soft skin just to the side of Harry's cock. "Mostly, it's about keeping your teeth out of the way." Harry made a choked noise of shock when Aaron licked from the base of his cock to the tip, swirling around before suckling the swollen knob for a few long moments. "And remembering that tongues are very useful, clever things." 

Harry was already moving restlessly, hips riding up when Aaron pulled away. He took pity then, and slid his lips around the head and then down, taking him inside in one smooth glide. The noises coming from Harry could probably make him come, but he wouldn't let them. Maybe some other time. 

Needy, desperate whines interspersed with Harry reaching down, his hands blindly questing to grip and hold and **not let this stop**. Not ever. And Aaron ate it up, even when Harry started thrusting down into his throat. Especially then, because it meant Harry had finally lost all control, all thought of what was right and wrong and natural and unnatural. 

This was just **good**. 

It was so good, in fact, that it was doomed to be over too quickly, and Harry seemed surprised himself when he came, spending himself down Aaron's throat so fast that the other man had just a moment to bring his mouth up for a proper taste of the last spurt of seed. It was every bit as delicious and decadent as he'd dreamed, even in his wildest wank fantasies. 

He gathered Harry into his arms as he shivered through the aftermath of his orgasm, of the utter shattering of everything he ever thought he knew about himself, feared about himself. "Aaron," he whispered, voice shaky.

"I know, Harry. I know, love. It's all right." All right to be broken apart, because Aaron was very good at fixing broken things.

"I...want...to kiss you. To...taste." It was hard for him to get the words out, but once he had, Harry pulled Aaron right into that kiss, getting that taste, and finding he didn't just like it, he loved it. At least Aaron had to assume he did from the way he sucked on his tongue. "God...okay, okay..." 

Harry pushed him back and followed exactly what Aaron had done, pushing at Aaron's thighs til there was space between them, looking at the rather intimidating cock like he wanted to eat it whole. "I can't fit that all the way...but I bloody well want to try." 

"Don't choke yourself," Aaron murmured, watching as his cock jerked under the scrutiny, a pearly white drop of precome beading at the exposed tip. "Just take it slow, you'll be perfect."

Never let it be said Harry Hart was a coward. Not when it counted. He leaned in and licked that drop of precome right up, then licked his lips and took the broad head into his mouth, suckling it like a hard candy and enjoying it far, far more. 

Aaron's eyes practically rolled back into his head, and he rewarded Harry with a long, low moan. He reached down blindly for one of Harry's hands, wrapping it around the base of his prick. "God, yeah...Harry, your fucking mouth..." It was made for this, and for kissing, and, he'd bet, crying out in ecstasy from a really good, deep fuck.

Harry hummed in pleasure at the praise, and managed to fit another few inches into his mouth before bobbing his head up and down. It took a couple of minutes for him to figure out how to add his tongue to the mix, but good god, the boy was a natural. Aaron propped himself up on his elbows so he could just watch, feeling his balls pulling up close in anticipation of his own climax. 

He held out as long as he could, gasping and even whimpering a few times when Harry really got his groove going. Harry was moaning, too, and Aaron would wager that he was hard again. The thought of that, of Harry getting hard from sucking him off, was enough to hurl him right to the precipice. "God, love...gonna make me come...pull away if you don't want it..." 

Which turned out to be silly advice, because Harry made an indignant little noise and only sucked harder. It was just so damned **Harry** that Aaron found himself laughing and coming at the same time, proving that there was a first for everything. "Oh god. God, love...Harry." 

His Harry swallowed every drop and then backed off, looking up at Merlin through his lashes. "I liked that. I think I shall do it every chance I get. But why were you laughing?" When he sat up between Aaron's legs, Aaron could see that he was, indeed, hard again. 

"Because ye are who ye are, and I love ye for it." _Ye ridiculous creature._

"Oh. I see. So...does this ever end? I mean, I...and then I am again, and..." And really, Aaron was going to have to train his new lover in the finer points of dirty talk. 

"You're hard again from sucking me off. And then if I suck you off again, I'd probably get hard again. And then so on?" As if he had to ask, and it earned him a prim look. "Eventually we just get tired and go to sleep, then wake up and do it again if we want." 

"You make it all sound simple." Simple and delightful. He flopped back on the bed and looked over at Aaron. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who've followed me over here from No One's Word :) One more chapter ought to wrap this up. I hope you all can see the seeds of NOW's Harry in this little prat.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine this whole story as being told to Eggsy over a series of nights, many years in the future. Thank you for reading!


End file.
